


Weigh my Eyelids Down

by veleda_k



Category: White Collar
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diana and Neal go undercover together and encounter obnoxious embezzlers, a man with a gun... and a single bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weigh my Eyelids Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frith_in_thorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frith_in_thorns/gifts).



> Written for Frith_in_thorns, for Fandom Stocking.

Diana glanced out the window before turning back to laugh at some corporate goon's flat joke. The snow was building, the clock was ticking, and she and Neal were no closer to closing this case. 

The winter cabin was luxuriously outfitted, more like a mini-mansion than anything else. Their target, Brandon Westfield Jr. had spared no expense, and had been eager to show off his new playground to a select group of associates, including his newest employee, William Jackson. (“Call me Will, everyone does.”)

Westfield had encouraged Neal to bring a date, and when Neal had demurred, he had offered to hire some “company.” Not wanting an unknown element in their investigation (and, frankly, disturbed by the idea), Peter had assigned Diana to be Will's previously unmentioned girlfriend, “Jenny.” 

Diana gazed admiringly at the man she was talking to. “So my boyfriend--” she tittered, “--it's so weird to say 'boyfriend.' We weren't even properly dating until tonight. Anyway, he speaks really highly of you.”

The man puffed up and began to talk at length about quarterlies and portfolios in a way that made Diana realize he knew less about his business than she did. Not one of Westfield's partners, then, but a mark. She asked the man to fetch her a drink, then slipped away as soon as his back was turned. She needed someone with actual intel. 

She glided across the room, appearing nonchalant but keeping her eyes sharp. As she walked, the mentally cataloged the places where she had Neal had dropped bugs. They hadn't managed to get nearly every room, but they had covered what they could. Neal's stealth and knack for sleight of hand been a huge blessing, not that she would ever admit it to him.

She saw Neal chatting up Westfield. Neal was clearly pulling out all the stops. His face was open and expressive, his eyes never left Westfield, and his laughter was full but not too loud. Diana saw him take half a step closer to Westfield, as if the two of them were sharing secret knowledge. Part of Diana was drawn in despite herself, but another part of her was repelled. There was something _off_ about Neal when he was like this: a little too glittering, a bit too dazzling, not quite real. Diana wondered how everyone couldn't see it, but then again, they had never seen Neal any other way. 

Westfield himself was nothing special. Diana had seen hundreds of others like him: born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he still wanted more, no matter who he had to hurt to get it. His suit was expertly tailored and probably ridiculously expensive, but he wore it the same way he showed off the cabin: to prove how important he was. All that perfect tailoring, and it still looked like it didn't fit. The contrast between him and Neal, who wore his hand-me-down Devore like a second skin, was obvious, at least to Diana. 

“A beautiful woman standing alone without a drink? We can't have that.”

Diana turned to see a man holding out a glass off champagne. She kept her face calm, killing the urge to smile triumphantly. This was George O'Connor. The team had multiple pictures of him and Westfield together, and gossip had him as Westfield's right hand. She had snagged her big fish. “What can I do?” she asked with a slight pout. “My boyfriend's ignoring me.”

“O'Connor leaned in. “Maybe you should get his attention.”

Diana took the champagne, but didn't drink. “He's talking business with Mr. Westfield,” she said with a sigh. “I doubt anything I did would get his attention.”

O'Connor smiled at that. “Then, it appears we can talk as long as we want.”

Diana matched his smile. “I guess so.”

Despite what she had hoped, O'Connor turned out to be tight lipped about the business side of things. Diana got hints and insinuations, but nothing they could use in court. She hoped Neal was having more luck. Very quickly catching his eye, she excused herself to use the ladies room.

Neal caught up with her in the hallway. “Anything?” she inquired softly. 

Neal shook his head. “Not much. It's clear we're on the right track, but we don't have nearly enough for an arrest.” He frowned. “Westfield wasn't this guarded before. Something may have spooked him.”

Diana looked around quickly. She faced him again once she was apparently certain that they were alone. “Do you think he knows the FBI is on to him?”

“If he does, he hasn't let on to me.”

“Possibly because he suspects you.” It was a worrying possibility.

Neal grimaced. “Hopefully not. He doesn't have a history of violence, but you never know what a desperate man will do.”

He was right, and Diana's worry grew. She did her best to push it down. “Let's not jump to conclusions,” she said. “We can't be certain it's the FBI he's worried about. Let's focus on getting some solid information before the party's over. Hughes isn't going to like it if this night results in nothing but wasted resources.”

“I'm glad it's Peter's job to tell him and not mine.”

“You do remember that we're wired? Peter can hear you.”

He flashed her a mischievous look. “I remember.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let's get back to work, Caffrey.”

He gave her a playful salute. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

Going back into the party, Diana had to hurriedly replace her amused grin with a vacant smile. She found O'Connor and sidled up to him again. “Did you miss me?” She asked flirtatiously. 

He leered at her. “Every second.”

“Good. It's nice to talk to someone who pays attention. Will is so paranoid these days. I think he caught it from Mr. Westfield.”

That got O'Connor's attention. “Brandon's paranoid? About what?”

Diana shrugged. “I don't know. Will never tells me anything. Something about Mr. Westfield not being able to trust anyone.”

“Does Brandon suspect anyone in particular?”

“I don't know, but Will says he intends to come out on top.” Alarm bells went off in Diana's head. Was O'Connor planning a takeover? That would explain a lot, and might be the information they needed. But nervousness was creeping over her. She had needed a reason that “Jenny” would have the information that she did, but putting Neal on O'Connor's radar as potential threat could put him in danger. 

“Attention everyone!” Westfield addressed the room, distracting Diana from her worry. “Normally I would say that the party is almost over, but if you look outside, you'll see that leaving is quite impossible until the roads are cleared. Luckily, there is enough room for you all to stay.” 

Peering out the window, Diana saw that the snow was indeed deep and still coming down heavily. 

She looked at O'Connor, who was wearing a thunderous expression on his face. “Is everything okay?” she asked innocently. 

“Fine,” he answered tightly before stomping off. 

Neal caught up to her and took her arm. “Let's go to our room, dear,” he announced as he led her away. Anyone watching would have seen a jealous man eager to get his lover alone. Once behind a closed door, they checked for bugs (if Westfield was descending into paranoia, then anything was possible), before finally relaxing, just slightly. 

“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Neal wondered. “About the roads being impassible?”

Diana thought about it. “Two possibilities: either he's telling the truth--”

“Or he wants to keep us all here, so he can flush out whoever he's afraid of,” Neal finished.

Diana didn't like either option. She didn't want to be kept in a cabin by a panicking embezzler, desperately scrambling to keep his power, but if driving really was impossible, then she and Neal were trapped without backup. “The only good news is that I don't think it's us that Westfield suspects,” she informed Neal. “I think George O'Connor is planning some sort of coup.” 

“That fits,” Neal said. “If his second in command is making a move against him, then of course he's freaking out. And it would explain his interest in me. A newcomer with no chance for divided loyalties might seem safer.”

“This actually gives us a little more time,” Diana pointed out. “We'll have the morning to continue the investigation, and if Westfield and O'Connor do face off, that could give us plenty of incriminating evidence.”

Neal nodded. “Nothing more we can do tonight, though. If Westfield catches us creeping around when we're supposed to be in bed, he might lose it. So, let's get some rest--oh,” he broke off. 

“What 'oh'?” Then Diana saw where he was looking. Of course there was only one bed. Why wouldn't there be? “Don't,” she warned.

Neal eyed her. “Don't what?”

“You're about to offer to do something chivalrous, like sleep on the floor or something equally stupid. Don't.”

“Right, okay.”

The dresser had pajamas (Westfield was at least a _prepared_ , greedy jerk), so Neal went into the bathroom across the hall to change, while Diana changed in the room.

Once they were in bed, Neal lay still and stiff, as if trying not to touch her. She huffed. “I'm not going to freak out if you brush against me. Honestly, you weren't this nervous the last time we were in bed together. You were incorrigible then.” 

“That was different,” Neal insisted. “That was only until you could convince Barrow that you had slept with me.”

Diana rolled her eyes. “You're right, Caffrey. Pretending to have sex was much less awkward then sleeping side by side.”

Neal gave a little shrug. “I just think that sleeping in the same bed is intimate. In the general sense,” he added.

The thing was, he had a point. Diana had slept alone since she and Christie broke up. It had taken some getting used to, and it was strange to have a warm, solid presence beside her again. “You've been sleeping alone for a while, huh?” As soon as it was out of her mouth, she regretted the question. Not only did she not want details on Neal's sex life, it also wasn't any of her business. But he had sounded so wistful, and a tiny bit lonely.

“Not since coming back to New York,” he admitted. “There was someone in Cape Verde, but...” he trailed off. 

Diana remembered how Neal had been several hours earlier, winning over Westfield, charm pouring out from every bit of him. It seemed so shallow and empty compared to now. Diana didn't claim to know the real Neal Caffrey. At this point, she wasn't sure that Neal knew the real Neal Caffrey. But she had seen him full of joy and childlike wonder. She had seen him grieving, and vengeful, and broken. She knew he had wounds he preferred to keep hidden, because she had those as well. 

“It's only fair to warn you that I'm a blanket hog,” she said, intentionally lightening the mood. 

Neal grinned. “I kick in my sleep. You might get anklet bruises.”

“In that case, you are sleeping on the floor,” she joked. 

She and Christie had done this, Diana recalled. Talked and laughed in bed. Until now she hadn't realized how much she missed it. Not that she was planning on crawling in bed with Neal every night. But it felt nice, just this once. Diana yawned. “If anyone breaks down the door and tries to kill us, wake me up.”

“Will do.”

Diana closed her eyes and hoped she wouldn't have nightmares tonight. Every agent had them occasionally, and tonight, trapped behind enemy lines so to speak, seemed a more likely night than most. But Neal wouldn't judge her if she woke up shaking. She knew he had nightmares of his own. They were both aware of what could lurk in the darkness. But they were also used to facing that darkness.

She didn't say anything to Neal, but she believed he understood. They would wake up tomorrow and face the day. They would do their jobs, and hopefully bring just a little more justice to the world. It was what needed to be done. It took a while, but finally darkness claimed her.

The sound of muffled shouting woke Diana. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Neal was up and hurriedly dressing. She was a light sleeper, but Neal clearly had her beat. She supposed a life on the run would do that to someone. In yesterday's slightly rumpled clothes, Neal didn't look quite as well put together as usual, but he still looked better than most people would after half morning of preparation. Some people had all the luck.

“Hurry up,” he hissed. “I think this may be our big break.”

Diana bit back a reminder about which of them gave the orders in favor of getting dressed quicker. She and Neal both grabbed their transmitter watches before slipping out the door. Together, they crept down the hallway. Diana could recognize the voices as O'Connor and Westfield. Neither of them sounded happy. 

Diana and Neal approached the dining room where the majority of the party and been held the night before. The door was half open, which gave Diana a clear view of the scene.

Westfield and O'Connor were arguing at the top of their lungs, and Westfield, dammit, had a gun. From the way he was waving it around, Diana could tell that he had no idea how to use it, which scared her more than if he were an expert marksman. At least that way, she would only have had to worry about the people he intended to shoot. A desperate amateur could end up killing anyone in the room out of sheer incompetence. And there _were_ other people in the room. People with bedrooms closer to the source of the chaos had unfortunately arrived before Diana and Neal. They were staring at the furious men, their faces displaying various degrees of terror and fascination. None of them, evidently, had the sense to stay out of a room containing the angry man with the gun.

Diana moved to stand in front of Neal. “If I told you to go back to the room, would you?” she whispered.

“No,” he answered, equally softly.

That was what she had figured. “You're unarmed, Caffrey.”

“So are you,” he pointed out.

“I'm an agent.”

“So? This wouldn't be the first time I've been in a room with a man waving a gun around. The fact that he's not aiming it at me is a nice change.”

“We're not entering the room unless we have to. Whatever they say will get picked up by the bugs.” And what weren't they saying? The two of them seemed to be in an incriminating statements contest. 

“Did you think I wouldn't find out?” Westfield demanded. “That I wouldn't notice you've been siphoning my funds?”

“I'm done ripping off small time investors!” O'Connor bellowed. “I'd be making ten times the money you are, if I had your resources. So I'm taking them. I already have your Cayman accounts.”

“I gave you everything!” Westfield swung the gun at O'Connor. “I let you in on the scam, showed you the altered books. I _made_ you.” His grip on the gun tightened, and Diana tensed. She hoped desperately that Westfield had been lying about the roads being blocked. If backup didn't arrive soon, she was going to have to go in and subdue Westfield, not something she wanted to do alone, surrounded by civilians, and minus her weapon. Way too much could go wrong.

Diana was prepared to spring, when the door on the opposite side of the room flew open. “Freeze! FBI!” Peter, Jones, and and handful of other agents burst into the room. Both O'Connor and Westfield turned pale, and Westfield dropped the gun like it had burned him. “Don't shoot! Don't shoot!” he cried.

Diana stepped into the room, Neal right behind her. “Hey, boss,” she greeted.

Peter nodded at them as he cuffed Westfield. “Nice work, you two.”

Diana and Neal looked at each other. It didn't feel like they had done much, but if Peter wanted to hand out approval, neither of them was going to turn it down.

The end of the sting was always the hardest part for Diana. Her adrenaline was still pumping, but she had nowhere to direct it. Once she was back at the office, she would begin to calm down, but now she was still a bundle of energy. She leaned against the door of the cabin, her fingers tapping against the wood. 

Neal came up to her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she returned.

“Not bad for a morning's work. Bad guys in custody and nobody injured, despite the gun.”

“No, not bad,” Diana agreed. It had been a smooth arrest, and the case was a sure thing with the evidence they had collected.

“You were protecting me,” Neal said, apropos of nothing.

Diana looked at him sharply. “Yes.”

Neal shook his head. “You and Peter are both like that. I can take care of myself, you know. I was doing it for years before I joined the FBI.” Diana opened her mouth to retort, but Neal continued before she could. “Thanks,” he said. Diana blinked at him. “It drives me crazy sometimes. A lot of the time,” he amended. “But not every agent cares like you guys do. About my safety, I mean.”

It was true, though Diana wished Neal didn't have to be so painfully aware of it. (Emphasis on “painfully.”) “You're a part of the team,” she said gruffly. “If anyone has a problem with that, then they don't belong on the team. You should tell Peter that,” she told him, “what you just said to me.”

“I should,” Neal admitted. “But he'd only take it as an invitation to be even more overbearing.”

Diana shrugged. “He might surprise you.”

Neal smiled crookedly. “He does have a tendency to do that.”

Peter came over at that point. “We're almost ready to head back. Then we can all get started on the paperwork.”

Neal instantaneously slipped back into his charming, grinning persona. “I don't know, Peter. There was violent man with a gun in there. I'm feeling very traumatized, and I think I should go home without doing my paperwork.”

Diana smirked. “Earlier, you told me that you were used to people waving guns around.”

Neal shot her a theatrically wounded look. “Traitor.”

Peter slung his arm around Neal's shoulder. “Sorry, Neal, you'll be filling out forms with the rest of us. And _don't_ try to convince the probies to do it for you. If I catch you doing that, I'll have you on nothing but mortgage fraud for a month.”

“So, you're saying I should make sure you don't catch me,” Neal teased.

Warmth crept into Peter's eyes. “I always catch you.”

“I let you.”

“Think that, if it makes you feel better.”

They were still bantering as they walked away, leaving Diana alone. She took a deep breath, then headed back to the van. She still had a long day ahead of her.

Filling out paperwork wasn't Diana's favorite part of the job, but it needed to be done, so she wrote reports just as carefully and diligently as she performed any other responsibility. Still, she was glad to dot her last i and cross her last t and have the whole thing prepared for Hughes. She looked at the clock and saw that it was almost 5:30, so she packed up her things and headed out. On her way, she passed Neal and Peter. Neal was attempting to persuade Peter to try some new restaurant that had opened up within Neal's radius, however, the more he glowingly described it, the less convinced Peter looked. Diana could have told Neal that it was hopeless, but she suspected he knew that.

As she walked by, she caught Neal's eye and nodded. He returned the gesture. They would probably never never bring up what they had discussed last night, but that didn't mean that either of them would forget.

Diana had dinner, then flipped through channels until she felt tired enough to sleep. Getting into bed, she thought of the night she had spent with Neal, and all the nights she had spent with Christie. She was more aware of the empty space beside her than she had been in a long time. But she wasn't lonely. How could she be when she remembered the awkward way Neal had thanked her? She thought of Peter's protective guidance and her easy camaraderie with Jones. Diana was many things, but she was not lonely.

She didn't have any trouble falling asleep that night. And there were no nightmares.


End file.
